


On The Run.

by Anonymous



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Bad portrayal of crimes, Blood and Gore, Daddy Kink, Dark! Malcolm Bright, Hacking, Hunters & Hunting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Incest, Involuntary Orgasms, Isolation, M/M, Malcolm Whitly - Freeform, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Parent/Child Incest, Police, Predator! Malcolm, Predator! Martin, Serial Killers, Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Wealth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 23:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Malcolm decides that being with his father is more important than a stable life.The journey on the run is much more fun than he anticipated.





	On The Run.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am.. two chapters behind on my other fic...and writing this. Follow me on Tumblr. Ask me why I haven't updated. *pained grunt*
> 
> <3
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/throwaway-sinfulwriter

Malcolm comes to consciousness the next morning gasping and panting for air. He's pulling at his restraints like he's being killed.

But it isn't a night terror.

His eyes open and he becomes aware of his body, kicking at the covers with such an intense feeling in his gut.

He knows what's about to happen, and leaves his restraints on.

Malcolm screams cover the sounds of his bird's panicked chirps as lava churns his stomach and comes out of him in an agonizing burst.

Absolutely losing it, his vision is filling with lights and colors his brain produces as his body gives him an orgasm that feels so good it hurts. It hurts so bad, and Malcolm wants it to _stop_.

He tries to keep track of how long it lasts, like his doctors told him, but he can't think straight.

His eyes are pouring lava as well, face soaked with tears as he arches his back and imagines himself back in the cabin.

"Oh fuck, _fuck_!" Are the first coherent words out of his mouth. His thin fingers probed deep inside as a hallucination of his father fucked him.

It no longer mattered how long it lasted, his mind was breaking into pieces and his father loved _him_ and not that _bitch_.

His entire morning is the aftermath of the attack.

Malcolm doesn't have a sub-drop, thankfully. If he had, he wouldn't be able to see his father.

And he wants to. He tells himself he wants to in the mirror after a long shower.

Hair slicked back, stubble carefully trimmed.

"You _want_ to see him." He tells his reflection. "You **love** him. He loves you. He said so. He doesn't love.. **her**." His vision blurs for a moment and a copy of himself materializes behind him, wearing his father's cardigan.

The hallucination leans forward and puts it's hands on his shoulders. When it speaks to him, it's Martin's voice.

"**_I__ didn't kill for love. No. Love drove me to have you, Malcolm._**"

He grunts and slams his hands on the sink, the manifestation of his subconscious going away. He gets a hold of himself and takes his medication. His laptop on the counter with his card of the day.

He has 3 years of cards stacked in his little holder, and enough medication to last him the same amount of time. Roughly. He could always get more.

A compact suitcase holding everything he needed was by the door. He has a plate of eggs for breakfast, considering his plan of events for the day.

The bird cage would go with the suitcase to the boat. He had grown so close to his parakeet. The thought of not taking her was more painful than death. She was his one and only true friend.

So she would go onto the boat as well. The boat he had purchased under a false name and card that was at the New York Bay.

Such things were attainable to him because of his parents filthy wealth, most of which had become his after his father's arrest. His mother held more than half of it, but his chunk was very large.

This money would finally come to use. He had a "worker", a man who worked for him who he had severe blackmail he obtained from his time in Quantico.

His assistance was vital for the locations they would go, what camera's saw them where, and reports from the "outside."

Outside of their little pocket of the world, Malcolm is giddy as he takes his things down to the small yacht. He knew how to run the boat, of course.

In his suitcase are various outfits and sentimental items. These included his childhood mementos and obsessive teenager clippings of his father's case files and photos. Lots and lots of photos.

And his adult, mahogany box of items. The most precious item is at the bottom, the red sweater his father often wore. It was the only item of clothing he was able to save from his mother's fire.

Malcolm got additional clothing for Martin as well. And the piece dè resistance, his Father's I.D card from his time in surgery.

With Sunshine secure in the boat and his existence there wiped from any radars, Malcom heads to retrieve his father. For the long ride.

He gets patted down and checked for any sharp objects before going in, the guards outside (one of them working for his mother) buzzing him in.

Malcolm looks up at the camera outside the door. Smiling widely. Knowing the footage would be some of the only the FBI would be able to recover from that date.

Only three seconds of Malcolm Whitly standing smiling and winking at the camera before hell broke loose. That's all they're going to get.

That's all they _deserve_.

He steps into the cell he adores, manic grin on his face. "Hello, **daddy**."

It's the only audio clip able to be retrived from anywhere in the whole hospital afterwards. No other audio or footage for the chaos that would soon ensue. Or how it continued for the rest of day.

The (_now ex_) profiler knew he would be a good criminal.

It is roughly 1:13 in the afternoon. The sun shines down through the small windows on his father so beautifully Malcolm wants to drop to his knees and sob. Beg for forgiveness, for just a taste of the man.

Martin turns, smiling. "My boy. You sure came in early today." He focuses on Malcolm for a second before his eyes go to the camera in the corner. Are they watching us.

Malcolm shakes his head. No.

He gasps as they crash into each other, his father grabbing his head and kissing him so fiercely he tasted blood.

The feeling of the killer's beard and soft lips are enough to have Malcolm pushing him away. Martin's eyebrows furrow in confusion, and slightly hurt.

"Not here." His son tells him. "We can do that on the boat."

And so began the adrenaline.

The door buzzes. There is only one guard in the hallway. Martin steps out first, and the man barely has enough time to stand before his neck is snapped and he dies.

The next two guards go down with the help of Malcolm. They don't have guns, thankfully. Malcolm jabs his hand into the pressure points on the neck and the guard goes down, hitting his head on the linoleum.

Malcolm panics for a second. Making sure they were knocked out, along with the broken corpse of the other guard.

Alarms blare. Lights flash and footsteps echo in the hallway.

"_Come on_!" He raises his voice to speak to his father, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to the emergency exit. Malcolm laughs giddily as they break out of the building, a black SUV pulled up with it's back door open.

They both slide into the seats laughing like school boys. Hands interlocked and cheeks rosy with the endorphins running high.

The driver begins taking them to the dock.

Malcolm turns his head, taking this opportunity to _look_ at the Surgeon. Closely. Detail to detail.

He has bags under his eyes. His wrinkles are mostly around his mouth and eyes. He has crow's feet. There's a smear of blood on his right cheek.

Before he knows what he's doing, the submissive leans forward and licks the blood. It's still **warm**. Maybe that was just the blush that followed the lick.

Malcolm pulls away to tell him about the yacht and all his plans, but he's interrupted.

He hears a low growl before his mouth is re-positioned where his father really wants it.

And he can't quite talk with his mouth full.


End file.
